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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191622">(Tom Holland X Reader) New School</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LVE32/pseuds/LVE32'>LVE32</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Actor Tom Holland, Adorable, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Cute, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Feel-good, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Funny, Gentle Kissing, High School, Kissing, Male-Female Friendship, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, School, Sleepovers, Sweet, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Teenagers, establishing realionship, establishing realtionship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:42:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LVE32/pseuds/LVE32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Holland (Actor)/Reader, Tom Holland (Actor)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(Tom Holland X Reader) New School</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Y/N and Tom meet are teens in this, if you didn't figure that out already. In England, high school is, like, age 11 to 16 btw</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Late again. </p><p>This was the third time this week that Y/N had missed the bell. She hoped she would be able to get away with it though, seeing as she is new to the school. So far, her teachers had been more than welcoming; explaining things she didn't understand, showing her where each of the classrooms was, etcetera. It was an understatement to say that moving schools had been stressful; she'd left friends and everything familiar behind---that's probably why she was late again. Even though she had had a week to get used to her new home and new life, Y/N was still finding it difficult to get used to a different routine and earlier starting time.</p><p>Y/N didn't know how she felt about her new school. It was big. Very big, with meandering hallways and endless rows of doors that each looked completely identical. The maths hallway looked just like the science hallway, and the English hallway looked just like the history hallway. Y/N felt there were just too many hallways in general. And too many people. They were loud and used words and phrases she didn't understand and spoke with a strange accent.</p><p>"Late again?" Tom teased as soon as she slumped into her chair, taking out her pencil case and spreading her chemistry books over the table. That was one good thing about moving; her new friend Tom.</p><p>"Have they done the register yet?" she whispered under her breath, glancing up at their teacher, Mr Warren, who was explaining something to do with ionic bonding on the whiteboard. He'd already covered half of the board in his spidery scrawl and Y/N chewed on a hangnail at the thought of having to decipher it. Something warm clasped her wrist gently, pulling her hand away from her mouth and she smiled weakly. </p><p>"Don't, you'll hurt yourself," Tom said gently, releasing her arm and pushing his notes towards her, which she was grateful for. His writing was almost as spidery as Mr Warren's but easier to read by far. Mr Warren's was like someone had dunked the spider in chalk and let it crawl drunkenly over the whiteboard. Tom's was like the spider had neatly dipped its feet on an ink pad and scurried across the lined paper as fast as it possibly could. "And, no, lucky for you. Did you oversleep?" He'd picked up Y/N's pen and started fiddling with it, turning it over in his slender fingers and pushing the end, clicking it a few times experimentally. Tom liked to fiddle with things.</p><p>Y/N stifled a yawn, covering her mouth with her hand so Mr Warren didn't think she was finding his lesson on positive ions boring. "Yeah, I can't get used to getting up this early. I mean, I can, but I seem to have a bad habit of rolling over and going back to sleep again." </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The day passed relatively slowly, the hour hand on every classroom's identical clock dripping painfully slowly down their faces. Nothing interesting happened apart from lunchtime, which---not that she was aware of it at the time---became an important landmark in her inexperienced life.</p><p>Y/N hadn't had much luck making friends yet. She had several acquaintances, people she smiled at when she passed them in corridors, who she could text if she was stuck on that week's homework assignment, etcetera. She had a few girls and a couple of boys she felt comfortable chatting to in lessons. So she had friends, just not a <em>friend</em> friend. She'd joined the school at rather an awkward time; everyone had already settled into their new routine, had already knotted together in tight-knit little groups. For Y/N to get a group of her own she would have to either weasel her way into an existing one, or somehow persuade others to leave their own. </p><p> </p><p>She guessed the chances of the last one occurring were pretty low, and she was still not brave enough to give the first one a try, thus, she settled for eating alone at lunchtime, and reading a book---again, alone---at breaktime. </p><p>Today, as usual, she collected her lunch from the canteen counter and took her tray of chips and baked beans (not as nice the beans back home) to what had become her usual table by the corner. She was rummaging around in her overstuffed backpack for a book to read when she felt something gently prod her shoulder.</p><p>"Why do you sit by yourself?"</p><p>Y/N turned to see Tom from science class smiling down at her with a goofy inquisitive grin, as if the idea of being alone confused him on some deep fundamental level. </p><p>"Why don't you come and sit with us?"</p><p>Y/N couldn't help the corners of her lips twitching up shyly, but the feeling soon died as she realized she would have to join a group of people she didn't know. "I wouldn't want to impose."</p><p>Tom gave a laid back chuckle as if finding her amusing. "If I thought you'd be imposing I wouldn't have asked you."</p><p>From the corner of the room, Y/N had a clear view of the rest of the lunch hall, which meant a clear view of the table Tom had come from. Everyone crowded around it was laughing at something one of them had said, so loudly the sound travelled all the way over to Y/N's own empty table. She paled at the thought of easing herself into that rambunctious group of strangers. </p><p>Trying not to let her obvious disappointment enter her voice: "I think I'm fine here, thanks." And she <em>was</em> disappointed. She would have liked to sit with Tom, quite a lot, actually. She'd like to do lots of things with Tom, she was realising now that his tall, lean body was leaning lazily against the wall, so close to her own. </p><p>Tom shrugged his surprisingly broad shoulders. "Okay."</p><p>Y/N thought he'd leave, then, return to his own table where two boys at least a foot taller than Y/N were arguing because one of them had accidentally squashed the other's sandwich under his maths book, and the other demanded his apple pie in recompense. </p><p>Tom did wander back to his table where, much to Y/N's surprise, he plucked up his tray, then turned around and came right back. </p><p>Y/N blinked at him as he placing his lunch down and settled into one of the many unfilled seats. She hadn't touched her own food yet, she was too busy waiting for an explanation. </p><p>Tom only started mashing his beans into a generous pile of ketchup on the side of his plate. </p><p>Eventually, Y/N said: "What are you doing?"</p><p>Tom's cheeks went a light pink and he looked down at the slight mess of his meal. "I like ketchup."</p><p>Y/N held in a laugh. "No, I mean why are you sitting here? Your friends are probably missing you." </p><p>Seeing that she wasn't going to chastise him for his odd ketchup habits, the boy loosened up a bit and the floppy grin returned. "Nah, they won't mind." he waved at the group of mismatched kids he had left behind on the other side of the room and got a series of light-hearted waves in return. "See? They're cool. Have you looked all around the school yet? In one of the P.E halls, they have these massive trampolines and---"</p><p>Y/N was only half-listening, but she was definitely watching. Tom had started ranting excitedly about various pieces of equipment the school had recently bought for the gym, eyes alive and hands moving about rapidly as he mimed this one time he had got his gym shorts trapped in a cycling machine. Why was he talking to her? Why was he sitting with her? They had met... what? Three days ago?</p><p>Science had been Y/N's first lesson at Park Ridge High school, and as soon as she had arrived, she had been greeted by a skinny brown-haired boy beaming at her and gesturing to the spare seat next to him. Y/N had offered him a tentative smile back, sliding shyly into the chair, nodding occasionally as he told her his name was Tom and when his birthday is and who his best friend was and what his favourite lesson was, and basically everything about himself. By the time the bell went to signal the end of the first period, Y/N knew more about Tom than whatever her science teacher had been trying to teach her.</p><p>She soon found out that Tom was like that with basically everyone. He was like the living embodiment of sunshine and rainbows. Y/N watched in awe as he often meandered up to teachers just to have a chat because he simply felt like having a chat. They would look confused as to why a teenager was so chirpy, but tell him about their day all the same whilst he nodded and laughed and looked like he was giving them all the attention he had. It would be annoying if it wasn't so genuine. Teacher's pets always got on everyone's nerves, but Tom wasn't like that. It was like he actually...cared. Y/N liked this about Tom; that he always seemed to be in a cheery mood, and wanted everyone else to join him. Y/N began to look forward to science lessons when she would be on the receiving end of his ramblings.</p><p>Dragging herself back to the present moment, Y/N noticed that Tom had paused to take a mouthful of chips. "I've looked around a bit, but that wasn't really 'looking around' so much as it was 'getting lost'. I never came across any trampolines, though." </p><p>Tom gasped when Y/N said this and pushed his tray away, having somehow inhaled everything on his plate when she'd been busy with her own, or possibly just blinking. "You have to see the trampolines. Come on, I'll show you before the last lesson." He rose to his full height and slung his rucksack onto his back. It was floppy as if there was nothing in it besides a beaten up Sports Direct waterbottle, a biro, and several notebooks. That's probably all that was in it, knowing Tom.</p><p>Around a mouthful of beans: "Now?"</p><p>"Yeah. They leave it unlocked."</p><p>"I don't think that's an invitation!" Y/N called after the taller, shoving as much of her lunch into her mouth as she could. Tom had already started walking towards the exit of the canteen.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The hall Tom wanted to show Y/N was located very close to the centre of the school, embedded in a tangle of corridors, classrooms, and offices. Y/N guessed it had been one of the original buildings, back when the school's population was several hundred rather than several thousand. It was so deep within the edifice that natural light had no way of reaching it, so when Tom swung open the set of double doors dramatically he had to flick on a light before what lay beyond was visible. "Ta-da!"</p><p>The gym was clearly the school's pride and joy. The floor looked neatly polished and the spot mats almost brand new. Rowing machines, treadmills, and other sports equipment lined the walls on one side of the room, a row of rectangular trampolines packed like sardines into the other. Tom had hurried over to them like an excited child and was already bouncing on the centre one when Y/N caught up with him, doing a flip rather expertly and landing on the one next to it. Y/N almost called out to him to be careful but stopped herself as she realized that he more than knew what he was doing. "You coming?" he called down to her as she approached, holding out a hand to help her up next to him.</p><p>Y/N eyed it sceptically, then slipped off her shoes and took Tom's large warm palm. She dipped her head, letting her hair cover her slightly flushed cheeks as he effortlessly hoisted her up onto the trampoline. It was bouncier than she expected and she stumbled forwards, yelping in surprise, and he caught her, chuckling. Her blush darkened by a few shades and she stepped away from his chest, clearing her throat awkwardly and scratching behind her neck, stuttering a small: "Sorry."</p><p>"For what? Hey Can you do any tricks?" Making sure Y/N had found her feet and was steady enough to stand on her own, he leapt back with almost supernatural agility---so they each had their own trampoline---and started casually jumping up and down on the spot, watching Y/N expectantly. His fringe flopped in his face when he fell back down to earth, then stuck back up like a mohawk as he rocketed away from it. How he was managing to go to high, Y/N had no idea.</p><p>"I used to have a trampoline in my garden," Y/N said thoughtfully, doing a little bounce to test it out "but not one like this."</p><p>Tom watched happily as Y/N grew slowly more confident, clapping when she did a small tumble turn, giving a little scream as she worried she was too near the edge, then dissolving into joyous laughter with the adrenaline. </p><p>Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door, startling Tom so much that he missed his footing and fell into an accidental seat drop.</p><p>A gruff male voice drifted through the double doors. "Is anyone in there?" </p><p>Y/N turned to Tom with narrowed eyes. "I thought you said that we were allowed in here?"</p><p>"I didn't say we were <em>allowed</em>, I said they left it <em>unlocked</em>." He gave her a guilty smile. "No one would really care about us being in here---I don't think---but we should hide. Just in case."</p><p>Y/N rolled her eyes and jumped neatly off her trampoline and began tugging her shoes on before everything went dark as Tom shut the light off, restoring the room to how they found it just as they heard the doors shift open.</p><p>"You kids know you aren't supposed to be in here during lunch."</p><p>Y/N almost jerked in surprise as something took her wrist, but managed to keep quiet as she realized it was only Tom, tugging her somewhere in the dark. She wriggled her arm out of his grip, and instead slipped her hand down to intertwine their fingers. She was too anxious to pay attention to what it felt like to properly hold his hand. The fact that she now couldn't see her surroundings was making her feel a little suffocated, and it didn't help that if they were discovered she'd probably get detention before she'd even been at her new school for a week. It was as if Tom knew this, could sense it somehow (or could just feel the clamminess of Y/N's palm) and led her a bit further into the room, before pulling her into a crouch.</p><p>Y/N guessed they were now hiding from the caretaker, whose footsteps they could hear squeaking on the polished wood floor as he searched for them. Eventually, he sighed, knowing he hadn't won but not seeming to care about it as much as he should, and his heavy footfalls slowly disappeared before the dull thud of the door echoed about the darkness. </p><p>Tom immediately broke out into fits of laughter next to Y/N, she could feel him shaking with it where their hands were still clasped. His laugh was quickly becoming one of her favourite sounds, but she guessed where his shoulder was and punched him on it lightly all the same.</p><p>"You said we were allowed in here!"</p><p>"Ow!" He exclaimed, though she knew he wasn't hurt "We are, just not if we're caught."</p><p>More giggling and Y/N couldn't help joining in. "That's not what being allowed somewhere means."</p><p>"Here, I'll light the way out." Tom slipped his fingers out from between Y/N's, leaving them feeling cold, and the sound of material being ruffled could be heard in the gloom. A small phone torchlight sprang suddenly into life, illuminating his grinning face like a strange kind of friendly ghost. "I hope he didn't lock us in."</p><p>Y/N's expression flickered with mild horror and Tom cackled at her, taking her hand again. </p><p>"I was joking! I told you, they don't lock it." </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I've only been at this school a few days and you've already made me almost get detention," Y/N said in mock disapproval, giving Tom a light nudge with her elbow as they left the P.E hall. She'd checked the corridor for the caretaker who'd tried to find them but couldn't see him; although, it occurred to her that she'd never actually <em>seen</em> him so she didn't really know what she was checking for in the first place.</p><p>Tom didn't seem to have picked up on her jesting tone and asked, genuinely concerned: "You had fun though, didn't you?" </p><p>Y/N was taken aback by his disquiet expression, and she realised at that moment that she'd never seen Tom properly worried before. The fact that the first thing she'd seen him worried about was the thought of upsetting her made her heart flutter slightly. She grinned. For the first time since she'd moved here, she was having fun. Proper fun, not laughing-at-a-joke-when-the-teacher-isn't-looking-fun, but real, messing-around-with-a-friend fun. "Definitely. Thank you. But let's not do it again because we might get caught."</p><p>"Hey! I'd never get us caught."</p><p>Y/N raised an eyebrow sceptically and they burst into a new wave of giggles.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A few months later, and Y/N and Tom had become firm friends. Firm friends as in almost inseparable. Every time a teacher said one of their names it was almost always followed by the other's. It was always 'Y/N and Tom' or 'Tom and Y/N'. If one was seen without the other people got concerned, as if Tom and Y/N being together was the norm, and them being apart was a strange and foreboding omen, like the number thirteen or a black cat crossing your path. They met up for lunch, talked in hushed voices during science lessons, walked to their next lessons together. Even if one of them was in a completely different direction, they would often go out of their way to make sure the other got to their class safely. Or so they said. Really, they just liked walking together. And talking. Their conversations became one of the main pleasures in Y/N's life; bouncing ideas off each other, Tom asking her to tell him stories of her past life in her old town, Y/N asking him to tell her stories of his life in this one.</p><p>Sometimes they would walk home together. Well, Tom would walk Y/N to her street, before turning left and going to his own. He would give them a small wave as they departed, and a cheerful 'see you tomorrow!'. Sometimes Y/N would watch him as he disappeared, already missing his wide grin and bright eyes making everything around her seem dull in comparison.</p><p>It had been an occasion like this when Y/N had just been left by Tom after he dropped her off at the top of her road. She had only walked a little way before something barreled into her back, making her jump. The thing was warm and had long arms that looped around her middle. She recognized the coat on the arms and grinned, resting her hands on them as the thing's body came up behind her, solid and strong and delightfully bigger than her. </p><p>"What are you doing?" she chuckled, leaning back into Tom's embrace. Suddenly she wished she wasn't wearing a backpack, or a coat so they could hug properly. The thought that she wanted more of him made a flush of heat crawl up her neck and she stuffed it back into the corner of her mind, glad for the thick material between them so Tom couldn't feel her rapidly beating heart.</p><p>"Hugging you goodbye. I'll stop if you want," his voice sounded right by her ear, each syllable feathering on her neck and she shook her head.</p><p>"No, I like it." An understatement. Thank God he can't see the shade of pink her cheeks have turned. "What's the occasion?"</p><p>"Can't a person just hug his best friend?"</p><p>Y/N's breath caught in her throat. "Best friend?"</p><p>"Of course." Tom pulled out of the hug, taking her shoulders in his large hands and using them to gently spin her round to face him. He'd tilted his head to the side, dark eyes staring searchingly at her face. He'd seemed so confident a second ago, but he sounded unsure as he asked: "Are we best friends?"</p><p>Y/N couldn't help her face splitting into a grin"Yeah. Yeah, we're best friends."</p><p>Tom seemed to exhale in relief, his eyes glowing with genuine pleasure as he beamed down at her. He beams at everyone, but Y/N could have sworn he reserves this particular smile only for her. She knows <em>she</em> has a smile she only smiles for <em>him</em>. She has many things she only does for Tom, like the jokes she saves and secrets she's never told. Y/N had known Tom was her best friend after barely a week of knowing him, but she hadn't dared dream that she was---would ever be---his. </p><p>He was still holding her shoulders, nose centimetres from her own, and he suddenly seemed to realize this, cheeks filling with a pastel candyfloss-looking colour. It was wonderful. He let her go, then said: "I was wondering, actually, if you wanted to come over. Now. To my house. I have video games and food and stuff..." he dwindled off into a bashful mumble, scratching behind his head, fluffy brown hair slipping between his slender fingers. </p><p>Y/N didn't answer for a second, <em>couldn't, </em>because she was just sort of staring at him. What she was witnessing was Tom, for the first time in his life, running out of things to say. Y/N couldn't help chuckling. She liked this new, shy Tom. And the thought that she was the reason he was so shy, that her estimation was the thing he so desperately seemed to want, pitched her into a new sphere of confidence. "Do you have smoothies?" She's teasing him, of course she's teasing him. She would have accepted his invitation even if it had been to just hang out---well, anywhere.</p><p>Tom visibly lit up with boyish joy. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I thought you said you had smoothies?"</p><p>Y/N and Tom had found his house (well, his parent's house) empty when they'd arrived. Y/N hadn't really thought much about the place Tom had grown up, and yet, somehow, this is exactly what she'd been expecting. Her eyes travelling from scratched tabletops to scuffs on the wall, it was easy to imagine him as a child running through each room waving a spiderman toy excitedly or kicking his shoes off after a long day. </p><p>Tom's house was almost identical to Y/N's house, now that she thought about it, although the living room and kitchen were on opposite sides, and Tom's had an extension protruding out the back where a conservatory had been added. There were more plants sprouting around the slightly-overgrown lawn than there were at Y/N's house, and the gravel in the driveway stamped down into the ground from use. A clearly-homemade wooden swing tied to a stooped-down old oak swung absently in the light breeze, and now that they were standing in the kitchenette it was evident that this house had served its purpose for many years. Everything she looked at was entangled in memories or spattered with personality, and Y/N had almost got a little lost in admiring it all. </p><p>Almost. What had interrupted her exploration of past-Tom was present-Tom, who was currently hoisting himself lithely up onto the counter and fumbling around at the back of a cupboard. The ease in which he did so made the corner of Y/N's lips twitch up into a smile; he'd clearly done this many, many, many times, but only when his mother's back is either firmly turned, or out of the house entirely, along with the rest of her. Maybe not to retrieve smoothy equipment, though, Y/N decided. To steal biscuits before dinner, maybe.</p><p>There was a small, muffled noise of triumph from inside the cabinet and then Tom's head appeared as he surfaced, looking pleased with himself. "We make the smoothies ourselves. It's more fun that way." He jumped back down onto the linoleum deftly, his sock-covered-feet making a delightful padding sound now that they're free from his school shoes. He came over to Y/N and dumped a bulky old blender down in front of her.</p><p>One of Y/N's eyebrows had risen sceptically when he'd climbed around his kitchen like a lanky, pale monkey, and it stayed risen as she eyed the ancient piece of technology before her. It looked so old, in fact, that she wondered if it even counted as 'technology' anymore. 'Antiquity' or 'relic' sounded much better. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"</p><p>Tom had started gathering various fruits from the fridge and a large wooden bowl on the table and went about the process of washing and peeling them. "Not really. But I saw Mum do it a hundred times when I was a kid. How hard can it be?"</p><p>Whilst he fiddled with the assorted knobs and dials on the blender, Y/N went back to gazing around the room. Everything was so...lived in, compared to her own house. Well, her things were lived in, but they had been <em>relocated</em> from the place where they'd been lived in, so they weren't really...that, anymore. </p><p>Tom had given Y/N a brisk tour on her arrival, showing her where the loo was, etcetera, and he'd thrown in a few of his own favourite personal landmarks. The chart on the wall by the coatrack showing his and his sibling's height's throughout the years etched onto the paintwork in pencil. The torn wallpaper by the fireplace where he'd ridden his new bike inside at age eight and crashed it within three munites of his mother's warning that he would. The wall separating the kitchen from the living room had been partially knocked down, opening the whole space up a lot more than Y/N's house. From where she stood she could just about glimpse the plush, slightly-lumpy sofa sagging on one corner. That had been the last place Tom had shown Y/N; his favourite place to sit on the couch, the pillows squashed and comfy looking. </p><p>That was a good word to describe this house; comfy. Y/N missed being in houses that were comfy. Her own certainly wasn't, it was fresh and crisp, all new and shiny from only a month of living in it. Tom's though; he looked completely at home in his jeans and lazy blue t-shirt, currently fiddling with the slightly decrepit blender.</p><p>There was suddenly a pleased 'Ah- ha!' and then several things happened in quick succession: The 'ah-ha' was followed by an extremely loud, ear-splitting noise like two rusty pieces of metal being scraped together. That was then followed by a sort of 'bang', like those rusty pieces of metal had been blown to smithereens. After that, there was a petrified little yelp of terror as half pulverized fruit flew about the room in colourful missile-like blobs. This continued until a there was a barely-audible click of a wall socket being switched off. Then everything went silent.</p><p>Y/N had managed to duck for cover behind the counter somewhere around the point in time when the loud 'bang' sound had happened. It's not that she'd been <em>expecting</em> Tom to blow everything up, but she hadn't <em>not</em> been expecting him to either.</p><p>They stayed silent for a few seconds, almost as if they'd killed a mighty beast and wanted to make sure its heart had well and truly stopped beating before they emerged from their hiding spots.</p><p>Y/N dared to surface to assess the damage first. The previously spotless (well, clear of spots that they had made that day) worktops, ceiling, floor---and pretty much everything else---were drenched in brightly coloured pieces of grapes, raspberries, oranges, and bananas. </p><p>Tom dared to rise out of his crouching position by the sink and peaked through squinting eyes at Y/N as if silently asking her '<em>how</em> <em>bad?'</em>. </p><p>Y/N was no help because she burst out laughing. Maybe because it was hilarious. Maybe because she'd thought for a second that she was going to die, and under 'cause of death' there would just be the sentence 'she tried to make a smoothy'. </p><p>"It's not funny!" Tom whined pitifully, eyes growing wider in horror as he finally mustered up the courage to look for himself, turning around slowly. "Mum's gonna kill me!"</p><p>Y/N tried to calm her giggling but it was no use, he just looked so comical; his sticky fruit juice covered t-shirt, bits of grape in his hair and some strawberry dripping crimson down his right eyebrow, his mouth hanging open like a confused fish. "Your face!" Y/N was still clutching her stomach in fits of giggles and felt someone lightly punch her on the arm.</p><p>"It's <em>not</em> funny!" Tom tried again, but less convincingly this time. The corner of his lip was twitching up in a small, guilty smile. "I could have got hurt or something! A bit of banana could have gone in my eye!"</p><p>This brought on a new wave of laughter and Y/N had to grab Tom's arm to stop herself from falling over. "Imagine going to the hospital and having to explain that you got banana in your eye!"</p><p>Tom rolled his eyes, picking a small piece of apple from Y/N's hair, distracted by the feel of her hand on his forearm. "Okay, it is a little funny, but you're covered too. And this is <em>your</em> fault!"</p><p>"How is it <em>my</em> fault?" Y/N just about managed to stop chuckling enough to mock-glare at Tom's now multicoloured face. </p><p>"You shouldn't have let me use a blender! You know I shouldn't be trusted with---well, anything. Now it's everywhere!" He picked another piece of fruit from Y/N's hair and flicked it at her face, making her scream and bat it away with her hands, both of them giggling now. "You'll have to borrow some clothes. Come on."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Y/N would be lying if she said her heart didn't do a fluttery little jump at the thought of wearing Tom's clothes. She was also childishly excited about getting to see his room, which hadn't been included in his earlier tour. Tom walked ahead of her, being able to keep a few strides in front because of his long legs, and Y/N's insides squirmed uncomfortably as she stared at the back of his head. He had no idea she was having thoughts like that; about how she'd like to wear his clothes, spend time in his bedroom. He had no idea that she'd had thoughts like that quite a few times since she'd met him, and that when he'd hugged her earlier her slightly touch-starved skin had tingled all over, and not stopped since, prickling in expectation of the next time he'd do that again. Y/N felt guilty for thinking things like that, although, she reminded herself generously, those kind of thoughts are not exactly something she could help. If Y/N's heart or her body or whatever had chosen this lanky, friendly, kind-of-dorky boy as her present crush, who was she to argue? It didn't exactly have bad taste.</p><p>It's just a shame (and rather awkward that) this lanky, friendly, kind-of-dorky boy also happened to be her best friend. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tom's room was located at the end of the first floor's corridor, next to the bathroom. Inside it looked...well, it looked like Tom's room. It had posters stuck to the wall at not-quite-straight angles, and piles of work he hadn't done stacked on a tired-looking desk. It had a bed with a blue, rumpled duvet, a bookshelf stuffed with novels that were definitely not in any kind of order. It had random things scattered everywhere, although they seemed quite at home (and actually they would probably look out of place if made any attempt at cleaning them up). '<em>Kind</em> <em>of</em> <em>like</em> <em>his</em> <em>personality', </em>Y/N thought to herself with amusement. </p><p>"I wasn't expecting a guest," Tom muttered, gathering whatever was closest to him into his arms and putting them away in various places, kicking something that Y/N could have sworn looked like a stack of comic books under his wardrobe. </p><p>Y/N had wanted to see Tom's room but now that she was she found herself somewhat subdued, and---if the fact that she was picking at a loose thread on her shirt was anything to go by---a little shy. Seeing someone's bedroom always feels quite intimate, even if just innocently among friends. You're getting a glimpse into their life, their safe space. It made them quite vulnerable, and the fact that they trusted you at all to enter the centre of their universe was both flattering and daunting. </p><p>It didn't help that Y/N's pulse skipped a few beats every time Tom so much as touched her hand. Now he'd bashfully invited her into his domain, casting worried looks in her direction as if awaiting her approval, and she was struggling to act like it was no big deal. </p><p>"Don't worry about it, mine's just as messy."</p><p>Shoulders visibly relaxing, Tom left his hurried attempt at organising the chaos of his living habits and instead turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "Thanks. Right, change of clothes." He rummaged around in a squat chest of draws by his desk, slinging them over his arm, then led Y/N to the bathroom where he started filling the sink with warm water. It was one of those old-fashioned sort of shell-shaped ones with metal knobby taps and Y/N guessed it had been installed when the house was built. The bathroom in Y/N's house wasn't like that, it was new and shining and everything, for some reason, had right angles; a square sink, a rectangular bathtub, etcetera. Y/N liked this bathroom more, even though specks of limescale were clinging stubbornly between the tiles in some places, and the walls didn't go with the flooring at all. </p><p>Maybe she just liked it more because it was Tom's. </p><p>"If you take your socks off we'll put them in here," he instructed, interrupting her revealer as he hopped on one foot as he tried to take off his own socks. </p><p>Y/N did, taking the side of the sink for support and grimacing as she realised hers probably had about half the smoothy submerged in the fabric of the material. "I hope we didn't walk too much of it upstairs. I really did try to step <em>around</em> the splatters on the floor," she said apologetically, handing them to Tom, who dropped them into the now-full sink. </p><p>"Don't worry about it. It's my fault, I set the blender up wrong or something."</p><p>"Or the blender is older than your parents," Y/N quipped.</p><p>Tom tried to bite down a smile. "That doesn't mean it's bad at its job."</p><p>"It does, that's why retirement is a thing."</p><p>Tom poked their socks, now submerged in soapy water and surrounded by lazily-drifting globules of fruit, thoughtfully. "I think what we will do is wash out the main bits, then put everything in the washing machine. Just so it doesn't get clogged up with bits of apple." </p><p>Y/N shifted from foot to foot because the tiles were cold against her bare skin. "Good idea."</p><p>"You think?" Tom looked genuinely pleased, so Y/N decided not to joke about that being the first good idea he'd had all evening and instead just gave a reassuring nod of her head. </p><p>"Yeah. We wouldn't be able to do it by hand, we're covered. I'm going to smell faintly of oranges for the next three weeks."</p><p>Tom gave her a look she didn't recognise as he said: "I really like oranges." </p><p>Y/N would have looked more into what that look may have meant if she hadn't been distracted by the fact that he'd grabbed the edges of his sticky T-shirt and pulled it, in one smooth motion, over his head. He stood there in front of the sink, mushing his shirt in amongst the socks and kneaded the whole thing with his hands, trying to rid the material of most of the pulverised fruit.</p><p>At least, that's what Y/N assumed he was doing. She wasn't really focused on that part, she was mainly trying very hard to suppress a blush that was hurriedly threatening to darken her entire face by at least seven shades of pink, and to find somewhere to rest her gaze other than on her friend's surprisingly muscled back. At last, she found somewhere; a slightly-dented rubber duck sitting squatly on the edge of the bath; as she said as levelly as she could muster: "I can wait outside if you want privacy."</p><p>"Why?" Tom turned to her, having wrung out the clothes he was holding in a damp ball in his large hands, and dropped them in a pile in the bath. He'd tipped his head to the side like a curious, confused dog, and Y/N dared to meet his eyes, trying to keep her own from wandering a little further down to his slender waist and tormentingly toned stomach.</p><p>Y/N snorted. "Um, maybe because you're getting changed?"</p><p>Tom shrugged those wide, now naked, shoulders. "I don't mind." He tipped his head down, inspecting his legs and mused, mainly to himself;  "I won't bother with my trousers, they're mostly fine."</p><p>Lips tugging into a smirk, "Because you crouched into a ball."</p><p>Tom flicking her with the towel he'd plucked from a railing behind him, "So did you!" </p><p>He filled the sink with clean water and splashed some over his head, then scrubbed it with the towel so his dark hair stuck up in fuzzy spikes. That should have made him look silly, or childish, but it didn't, it only made him more attractive, somehow, and Y/N realised with confusion that she really wanted to reach out and run her hands over his head.</p><p>Luckily she didn't, though. She just watched as Tom checked he'd removed every trace of banana from his hair, then tugged on one of the fresh T-shirts he'd brought.</p><p>"These are the clothes you can borrow." He gestured at the remaining items, by the looks of it a pair of faded black skinny jeans and a red T-shirt. "They'll be a bit big, obviously."</p><p>"That's fine, thanks." That's more than fine. Oversized clothes that smell slightly of Tom is one of life's many pleasures, in Y/N's mind. She was about to start pulling off her top, then realised someone was still standing there. "A little privacy, please?" </p><p>Tom went scarlet (one of the most endearing things Y/N had ever seen). "Oh, yeah, sorry," he stuttered and nearly walked into the door jamb as he made a hasty exit. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Okay... where do we start?" Y/N stood with her hands on her hips determinedly. They'd reconvened in the kitchen, which looked like it had been strafed by Innocent Drinks, Y/N now sporting an outfit that had almost every part of it rolled up to some degree. </p><p>Tom scratched his head thoughtfully, fingers getting lost in his still-damp hair and crossed over to the sink, picking up a small rag that was obviously for washing dishes and tossing it to Y/N "You do the counters, I mop the floor?"</p><p>Y/N tilted her head upwards enough to get a good look at the ceiling. It was almost pretty, in a sicky, moist kind of way. "And what about that?" </p><p>"You could stand on a chair?"</p><p>"Why do I have to do the ceiling?" Y/N asked indignantly. </p><p>Tom narrowed his eyes hopefully as he said, "The floor's bigger than the counters, we're even!" as if he half expected he wouldn't get away with it. </p><p>He did, though, as Y/N didn't like the idea of his mother coming home to see her house looked like the site of a fruit-massacre, and because, if she was honest, she'd rather scrub the ceiling than the floor. Every now and again she'd looked down from her elevated position on one of the dining room chairs to see Tom crawling around on his hands and knees, desperately scrubbing at a strawberry stain, and couldn't help giggling. </p><p>Within ten minutes, the kitchen was back to its organized mess, surfaces wiped and floor shining with a slight sheen of soapy water residue. Tom stood back to admire his handy work and Y/N sighed in relief, throwing the cloth she'd be glad to never see again into its home in the sink. </p><p>"That was hard work, we deserve something to drink." He smirked. "How about a smoothy?" and Y/N gave him a playful glare. </p><p>"You're lucky I'm not still holding that cloth or I would have thrown it at you."</p><p>Tom chuckled, putting his own cleaning equipment away. "I was joking about the smoothies but we <em>do</em> deserve a rest. How about we just watch television now? Or is that too boring?" A hint of concern had entered his usually so confident tone, and Y/N huffed a laugh.</p><p>"TV sounds amazing." </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tom found something to watch, asking Y/N over and over if she was sure she wanted to see it, or if she'd like to do something else entirely, and she waved off his worries absently. The truth was, she didn't really care what she was doing, so long as it was with him. And she'd happily sit through a movie she didn't want to see, if that meant Tom would feel even a smidgen of happiness, anyway. </p><p>While he hunted around for the television's ever-illusive remote, Y/N flopped onto the sofa, settling herself in the corner where the back and one of the armrests connected. She stretched her legs out before her, them glad for the chance to relax properly. </p><p>into the living room, falling on her back onto the sofa exhaustedly. Y/N wriggled a little so they were half swallowed by the large and old cushions, sighing happily. </p><p>Tom finally found the controller and joined Y/N at the sofa, standing over her, his lips curling into a smile, the light from the front window making a glowy halo around his head. He teased: "Comfortable?"</p><p>Wriggling a little to emphasise the fact and further sink herself into the bloated pillows: "Yep," popping the 'p'. "This is my spot now, I've claimed it."</p><p>Tom was still smiling, and if Y/N didn't know him better she would have said he was trying to stop it from widening into a grin. "Yeah? How?"</p><p>"Verbally. Just now, when I said I claimed it."</p><p>"Oh, really?"</p><p>Y/N nodded, although she felt less sure of herself now. Not because she knew she had no right to claim anything in someone else's house, but because this kind of teasing felt different from their usual kind of teasing. And Tom had that expression again, that look she didn't recognise as he simpered down at her, all tucked up in his usual place on the sofa. This new teasing didn't feel particularly bad, and that expression on Tom's face---whatever it meant---made ribbons of excitement tangle up Y/N's spine. She didn't want it to stop. "Yes. It's got a perfect view of the TV, its near the radiator, and the window. Its the perfect spot."</p><p>"That's why I chose it to be <em>my</em> spot when I was five years old. I fought valiantly for it and I'm not about to give it up that easily."</p><p>Before Y/N could ask he what exactly 'not giving it up' entailed, she found out. </p><p>Tom had stood on the lip of the sofa, wriggled one foot between Y/N and the backrest, then dropped his entire body into that small gap, his head level with Y/N's shoulder. He sighed, proud of his resourcefulness and satisfied that he'd won, and Y/N felt his chest expand and deflate with it because at least half of his body was nestled up against her side, and the other half was <em>on</em> <em>top</em> of her.</p><p>Y/N didn't know what to say. Or do, really. The logical part of her brain was telling her to get up, pretend to sigh and complain moodily about her defeat as she finds somewhere else to sit. The emotional part---the part that was obviously very attracted and actually a little bit in love with the boy now cuddled up to her side---was telling her to just lay back and enjoy it. Maybe even lift her arm to wrap around his shoulders. She wondered if she'd even have time to do that; she kind of expected him to get up any second now, or playfully shove her off the sofa in a brotherly way.</p><p>But he didn't. He shifted a bit, let one of his hands come to rest on Y/N's stomach, but that was all. He was just laying there, watching the film now playing on the television they both had a perfect view of in this strangely-wonderful compromise. </p><p>"So are you just going to stay there?" Y/N asked, because she had to know. She wanted to know, because the emotional part of her brain that kept telling her to hold him closer was very persuasive, and she didn't know how long it would be until she'd give in to its whims. </p><p>"...Do you want me to stay here?"</p><p>Y/N thought about it. Not that she needed to. She thought about how she could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the flurry of his pulse from where his chest was pushing against her side. She thought about his long, slender body, the surprising---yet beyond pleasant---weight of it pushing her into the sofa. "Yes."</p><p>"Then I will."</p><p>Unable to help a bashful smile spread across her slightly glowing face, Y/N gave into that instinctual desire to put her arm around him, and did, using it to tug him further against herself, his head moving to rest beside her chin. </p><p>He'd gone all limp, letting Y/N pretty much do what she wanted with him, not minding so long as she was still cuddling him close, and gave a contented hum. Y/N she couldn't see, but she was sure he was smiling. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A while had passed, Y/N wasn't sure how long. It could have been an hour. Or a few minutes. She could probably guess from how far they'd gotten into the movie, but that wasn't really helpful because she hadn't been paying attention to a second of it. Tom had fidgeted a bit, tipping his head so that his nose just brushed Y/N's neck, as if he was finding immense comfort in that little space just below her ear where her hair brushed his cheek. The feeling of his breath swirling, hot and humid and wonderful against her skin was too much of a distraction. </p><p>Somehow, Y/N knew Tom hadn't been paying attention to the film either because he definitely couldn't see it from the little home he'd made snuggled against Y/N's neck. One of his slender legs had come to rest on top of Y/N's at some point in an effort to get closer to her. </p><p>'<em>Is</em> <em>he</em> <em>cold?' </em>Y/N had wondered at the time, not daring to consider the fact that he was hugging her because he <em>wanted</em> to hug her. But then he'd started running his thumb back and forth at her belly, over the fabric of her borrowed T-shirt as if just...enjoying having her there, under his hands, and she'd realised that maybe him wanting to hug her wasn't such a stretch after all. He <em>had</em> asked if they were best friends earlier. And best friends sometimes cuddle on the sofa, right?</p><p>Y/N wondered if best friends also run their fingers through each other's hair because that's what she was doing now. She'd tried not to but the urge to fiddle with something was too strong, let alone the fact that she'd wanted to do that for---well, for long enough to wear away her self-restraint. </p><p>Tom's hair was soft. Well, most people's hair is soft, Y/N knew, but his was soft as in smooth, slipping through her fingers easily, so easily they fell straight through every now and again, brushing against his head. He'd made a small sound of enjoyment, the edge of a grateful hum slipping from his lips and swirling into Y/N's ear like syrup and she'd been so shocked she nearly fell right off the couch. </p><p>She'd not heard someone make that kind of noise before. At least not because of something <em>she'd</em> done. She wanted to experiment, see if she could get Tom to do it again, but she, for some reason, couldn't set her hand back into motion. That noise, that tiny halting sound of pleasure had scraped against some part of her, awakened something in her inexperienced body in a way that unnerved her. It was <em>wrong</em> to feel that way about your best friend, it was <em>wrong</em> and a betrayal of trust. Well, it wasn't wrong because she couldn't help it, but it would be wrong to pay attention to it, to exploit it.</p><p>So Y/N asked, in a way that she hoped was convincingly casual: "What time do your parents get home from work?" She was half prompting him to move, and half genuinely concerned at the mental image of his family coming home to see their son snuggling with a strange girl they'd never met before.</p><p>"Six." He sounded sleepy. This is probably the quietest Y/N had ever seen him, she noted with a small smile. </p><p>Y/N's other hand had been dangling off the edge of the sofa but she angled it up enough now to read her watch. "It's past six." </p><p>A little more clarity coming back to his voice now: "Wait, really?" </p><p>With Y/N's assurance that, yes, it was past six already, Tom pushed himself up, stretching and yawning widely like a cat waking from a particularly nice nap.</p><p>And just like that: it was over.</p><p>That new and exciting sensation within Y/N that Tom's little moan had triggered had been replaced by a clinging, hot sense of awkwardness. Their cuddle being over probably meant talking about their cuddle, or why they'd cuddled, or what that sound tom had made meant when they'd been cuddling. Or the fact that she had wanted to touch his hair in the first place, gently run her nails over his scalp, tug him closer. Y/N didn't want to talk about that. That was too close to her quickly festering crush on her best friend, and the further to the back of her mind she pushed that the better, she thought. </p><p>While Tom stood up properly and worked at remembering how to walk again, Y/N swung her legs off the couch. "I should probably be going back home now anyway. I texted my family to say where I'd be but they probably want me home for dinner."</p><p>Tom stretched his lanky arms above his head again, his shirt rising up a bit and Y/N decided to turn the television off for him, the task a good distraction from that slither of skin she, God knows why, wanted to look at more than was good for her. "I'm glad you could come over." Tom managed through another yawn. "And thanks for helping clean up the kitchen. Sorry, we didn't do anything else other than sitting on a sofa and clean stuff. I did have more things planned." He looked momentarily confused, as if wondering what exactly happened to those things, or all the time he'd planned to do them in.</p><p>Y/N shrugged. She was getting good at this pretend-you're-not-slightly-in-love-with-your-adorable-goofy-best-friend lark. That cuddle had been like a test of strength, she pondered, and she'd done rather well, she thought proudly. "It's okay, I had a good time. Even though you nearly killed me with fruit-based projectiles and we did mainly 'sitting on a sofa'." </p><p>Tom chuckled, scratching behind his neck. "Me too. I'll help you get your stuff together. You can borrow the clothes, I'll put yours in the wash and give them back to you at school." His lips twitched into an uncharacteristically shy smile. "We should do this again sometime."</p><p>Y/N wondered if he meant cuddling on the couch or her coming over to his house. She didn't have a particular one in mind when she said, grinning: "Definitely." </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tom offered to walk Y/N home---because of course he did---but Y/N politely refused. She didn't really know why. Her insides were still squirming slightly with---well, she wasn't really sure what with. Whatever that emotion is where you're in love with your best friend but wish you weren't. </p><p>The sky had settled into a deep purple hue, the street lamps flicking on for the night and turning the pavement orange. A brittle breeze danced around Y/N's ankles, making her glad for Tom's oversized jeans, and the thought of Tom made her wish she was still in his living room, stretched out on the sofa with him tucked against her side. If she would have asked, would he have let her swap places with him? If she'd have stayed, would he have got up to use the bathroom, then on his return laid further up the sofa so he was kind of curled around her back, just for a change of pace? What would it have felt like to have Tom's long, lean body fitting around hers? His arm snaked around her middle to pull her right up against his front, his heartbeat against her shoulderblade, his chin resting on the top of her head? </p><p>And then...what if he lifted his chin from her head? What if he took hers gently, tipped her head up and captured her lips with his own? </p><p>What would it be like to date Tom? To have him slip his fingers in between hers as they walk to school? To have him catch her lips for kisses whenever he felt like it? To be able to kiss him whenever she felt like it? A guilty feeling of pleasure thrummed through Y/N's body. She'd tried so hard to keep those images at bay, she'd been doing so <em>well</em>. She should stop.</p><p>But she didn't want to.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Y/N was still thinking about Tom when she eventually reached her bedroom. It's not that she's given up forcing herself not to, she was just...taking a break from trying to hold those thoughts back. She didn't know, now that she had the mental image of herself pressing a kiss to his perfectly curved lower lip, how she would ever go back to <em>not</em> thinking these thoughts. They were addictively moreish, tantalisingly exciting, and yet uncomfortable in their own, forbidden sort of way. They didn't sit right with her conscience, every second that past stacking more and more guilt onto Y/N's shoulders as she realised what she'd been doing. </p><p>What if Tom, somehow, found out she'd been daydreaming vividly about tugging his hair in search of more of those luscious little happy-sounds he makes? He'd be so freaked out, so betrayed, they'd probably never speak to her again. He wouldn't cut her out of his life, he's not like that, not that mean. He'd fade her out instead, which would somehow be worse. Just sort of...stop texting her, turning his eyes to the floor when she passed, quickly start a conversation with someone else if he noticed her walking his way. It wouldn't be a clean break, it would be Y/N slowly gathering metaphorical cobwebs as he leaves her in a corner. </p><p>She'd never again get to hear his laugh, joyous syllables tumbling over each other, his face split into a wide smile, all perfect teeth and glimpses of his pink tongue. She'd never again get to hang out with him, walk to lessons in a little private huddle, giggling about inside jokes and teasingly nudging each other in that way only best friends can get away with. </p><p>Y/N had wondered about simply telling Tom how she feels. Not about the hair-tugging part, or any of those pleasant-yet-disturbing thoughts she'd had, but about the rest of it. That she'd like to kiss him, maybe. And maybe like to have him kiss her. And that she thought he was extremely good-looking and funny and kind so she'd be much obliged if he'd perhaps go on a date---or something---one day. </p><p>But, after much deliberation, she decided that it wasn't worth it. She'd turned their current relationship over in her hands many times, contemplating whether it was worth breaking it to see if there was perhaps romance hidden inside---</p><p>And reached the conclusion that it wasn't. The way Y/N saw it, she could tell him, and then perhaps never see him again, or she could <em>not</em> tell him and they continue as best friends and everything would be rosy for the foreseeable future. It was a no-brainer. </p><p>Y/N had started to feel pretty miserable by this point. Maybe her crush would go away? Although, she doubted it; how could anyone fall out of love with Tom Holland? This is just how it would be now, she conceded bitterly; suppressing blushed and the urge to kiss him when she's with him, and guiltily imagining made-up boyfriend scenarios when she's not.  </p><p>She shouldn't even be allowing herself to do <em>that</em>, Y/N mentally scolded herself. Why was she still thinking about Tom, anyway? Shouldn't she be doing homework or something? It was almost embarrassing, how she'd become a little bit obsessed with his stupid lovely face and his stupid lovely personality and that stupid lovely way he ran his hand over his stupid lovely head when he gets nervous. <em>'I need to stop thinking about him', </em>Y/Nlecturedherself<em>  'because it's almost pathetic; he probably never even thinks about me.'</em></p><p>There was a little ringing sound as her phone received a notification and she pulled it from her bag, realising she'd had such a good time with Tom she'd not even remembered the internet exists for the past six hours. That made her smile. Y/N always felt she spent slightly more time online than was good for her, but her friendship with Tom seemed to be giving her something better to do. It's cruelly ironic how problems never seem to get solved, just replaced with other ones. </p><p>The notification was a text, and Y/N's smile widened into a grin as she saw Tom's name. The text read:</p><p>
  <em>Thanks for coming over tonight.</em>
</p><p><br/>Y/N's grin flickered into a smirk as she tapping back:</p><p>
  <em>I never did get my smoothie...</em>
</p><p><br/>There was a small pause and she began to wonder---self consciously and entirely unjustly---if she had somehow offended him. God knows how, though; you could probably slap him with a fish while yelling various insults at him and he's just laugh and commend your hilarious use of a salmon and wide vocabulary. </p><p>Then the little notification sound went off again:</p><p> </p><p><em>You did get smoothie. In your hair. And on your clothes</em>. 😂</p><p><br/>Then Y/N barely had time to formulate a witty response because there was another pinging sound in straight succession as another text bubble appeared:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But you had fun, didn't you?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Y/N almost huffed a laugh at what an understatement that was. </p><p> </p><p>Y<em>eah. Definitely.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Going around Tom's after school became a regular thing.  </p><p>He had video games (where Y/N would scream at the TV as if it would help her somehow beat him at Mario Kart). He had board games (where she would throw the pieces at him if she lost, then he would throw them back and so forth until a rematch was demanded). He had managed to make smoothies without flinging the ingredients around the room, so they would try a different combination of fruit each time (Y/N still making sure to stand a little way back from the decrepit old machine of which she still did not trust). Y/N had met Tom's parents, and they had made sure she stayed for dinner most times, cooking her whatever she liked and fussing over her, making sure she was warm enough and that she had drunk enough water. They told her funny stories about Tom's childhood while he melted like the Wicked Witch Of The West and begged them to stop (which would make Y/N laugh harder than the stories themselves). </p><p>It was a Friday when Y/N and Tom were walking home from school and Tom said suddenly and out of the blue: </p><p>"What if you stayed the night this time?"</p><p>Y/N turned to him and couldn't help her lips spreading into a smile. </p><p>Walking like he usually does, with a self-assured stride, you wouldn't be able to tell he was embarrassed unless you knew him very very well. Which Y/N did. Several things gave away his bashful hopefulness, like the ever-so-slight sprinkling of pastel pink across the middle of his nose, the fact that he wasn't meeting Y/N's eyes, and how he was holding his bag. He was sort of clinging to the straps at his chest, knuckles white, giving away his tension. Y/N still hadn't seen anyone else make Tom feel self-conscious besides her very own self (and his maths teacher, but she makes <em>everyone</em> self-conscious). </p><p>"You mean like a sleepover?" Y/N asked, trying to stuff the mental image of seeing Tom in his pyjamas to the back of her mind. She mustn't think about that, she <em>wouldn't</em>. She'd done very well keeping those thoughts at bay, and she'd be dammed if the daydream to break her streak was of Tom's long limbs not-nearly-covered-enough in that pair of PJs she always saw strewn on his bed. </p><p>"Yeah. My parents are staying at my gran's, my brothers are staying at their own friend's houses so we would have the house to ourselves. You can sleep on an airbed or the sofa or something and we can watch a movie and---" he was babbling embarrassedly, cheeks an adorable pastel pink, and Y/N---scared he'd malfunction or something---took his arm, cutting his spiel off abruptly:</p><p>"I'd love to. I'll go home first to pack my stuff, then walk to yours, okay?"</p><p>Tom's shoulders slackened, surprising Y/N; she hadn't realised they'd been tense in the first place, the anxious line of his mouth curving into a relieved grin. It faltered, though, as he seemed to realise something and looked down at where Y/N's hand was still gently wrapped around his forearm. </p><p>"Sorry," she stuttered stupidly, hastily releasing him. She didn't know why. They'd touched before, hugged, even. Heck, they'd cuddled on the sofa, so close she could feel Tom's heartbeat drumming against her ribcage. Although, Y/N noted, only once. They hadn't done that since, and she couldn't help wondering why. Maybe that's why she'd let go of his arm as if it had burnt her; he might not want to touch again.</p><p>She's wrong because Tom offered a tentative smile. </p><p>"I didn't mind." </p><p>There was a pause where they just kept walking, both sort of keeping their eyes fixed on their feet as they covered the stretch of pavement between school and Y/N's house. Their smooth flow of conversation had been broken and Y/N was just rummaging around in her head for something to say next when Tom said in a small voice: </p><p>"You can do it again if you want."</p><p>Y/N's breath caught but she hid it well. She's getting extremely good at that. Tom still wasn't meeting her eyes and his face hadn't changed back from the raspberry-flavoured-Jelly-Baby-pink it had gone when he'd asked her to sleep over. He'd pushed his hands deep into his pockets sheepishly and Y/N almost giggled at him. She would have done if she didn't currently feel just as embarrassed. </p><p>Despite that, she would really like to hold his arm. And she thinks he does too, judging by how red the tips of his ears have gone. Unless that's just wishful thinking. All the same, and with fluttering metaphorical wings beating quickly in her chest, Y/N took Tom's arm again, curling her fingers sort of in the nook of his elbow. She could feel his muscles tense in anticipation of her touch, then soften as he got used to it, a small, suppressed smile playing about his mouth. </p><p>He stepped a bit closer to her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After retrieving Y/N's night things and asking permission from her parents (they said 'sure' and gave her a casual wave as they wished her a good time), the two were now kneeling on Tom's bedroom floor, unrolling an airbed. </p><p>"I hope it's comfortable," Tom mused, staring down---unimpressed---at the rumpled, rather sad looking material as if it was something that had changed its shape in the wash. "It doesn't look it."</p><p>Y/N laughed at his expression, locating the hole to blow it up and connected the nozzle of the foot pump. "Well, it won't <em>now</em> because it's got no air in it. We have to blow it up."</p><p>His cheeks reddened. "I <em>know</em>. I'm just saying." He crouched back down to spread out the corners as much as possible, allowing the air Y/N was pushing into it to slowly fill the bag. They were in silence for a bit, Y/N too out of breath from the rhythmically pressing the foot pump to talk, and the hissing of the air entering the bed too loud for conversation anyway. </p><p>Tom raised his voice over the noise at one point, saying the word 'airing-cupboard' and left the room to retrieve sheets and a spare duvet and pillow. While he was gone, Y/N gazed about at the various curiosities scattered about his bedroom.  Although she pondered, they're probably only curiosities to her. The posters of his favourite movies tacked up on the walls, clothes in random piles scattered on the floor where he had missed the laundry hamper, pens and paper and stationery covering his desk. They're quintessential items to have in a bedroom and yet, for some reason, Tom's fascinated Y/N. Probably because it was <em>Tom's</em>. </p><p>"What film do you want to watch later? If you do want to watch one, that is." Tom said suddenly from behind her, making her jump (she'd been staring with interest at a Deadpool figure on his shelf she hadn't noticed before. She always seems to notice something new whenever she's at Tom's house, no matter how many times or how frequently she goes). He dumped a pile of duvet, pillow, and bedsheets to the floor by the now about-half-inflated airbed and nudged Y/N out of the way, taking over the duty of blowing it up. </p><p>Y/N sighed in relief, giving up her position gladly and went over to her backpack. "Thanks. And yeah, I'd love to watch something, I don't mind what. Look, I got some popcorn from home when I got my pyjamas." She pulled out the large bag she'd brought, raising her head to see Tom's face light up with that smile she loved so much at the prospect of sweet treats. </p><p>To her surprise, he looked even more pleased than she was expecting as he grinned.  "Awesome." </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When the airbed was inflated sufficiently, and after it had been tested several times (by bouncing on it probably more than was good for its weak old seams), Y/N started making the bag of air into something she felt she could sleep on. While she was wriggling a pillow into its case Tom suggested he would start cooking dinner and went downstairs, trying to look moody because Y/N had teased him about being careful (she hadn't let the blender incident go and she never would, much to Tom's annoyance). </p><p>That's where Y/N found him when she felt her temporary place of rest met her standards, standing at the stove, absently stirring something in a pan with a wooden spoon. He was watching the contents of the pan orbit its center, a vacant look clouding his gaze and Y/N couldn't help grinning softly. He looked so... content, in his jeans that were a bit too short, coming up just above his skinny ankles, boney bare feet on the kitchen tiles. He was leaning against the counter lazily while he stirred, his fringe---that had needed a trim three weeks ago and was still waiting for one---threatening to flop in his eyes while he daydreamed.</p><p>Y/N strolled over to his side, leaning over to see what was for dinner. She smiled, seeing that it was spaghetti. "What you thinking about?"</p><p>Tom had started a little, obviously deeply submerged in a daydream, but gave Y/N a welcoming beam. He always did that whenever he saw her. Even if he'd seen her two minutes ago. "I didn't hear you come in." His cheeks had gained a slight flush, probably from the steam billowing in swirling plumes from the pasta as it bubbled away on the gas hob. "Nothing really. Just... when my parents are out, I like to imagine that this is my house, you know? And I live here with... someone I like... I don't know. It's kind of stupid." He huffed an embarrassed laugh, dipping his head back to the task at hand but Y/N shook her head. </p><p>"It's not stupid, we're at that age where we kind of have to start thinking about stuff like that. I know what you mean. I think about having my own place too; having my own furniture, decorating the walls how I like. I get it."</p><p>Tom looked down at her, his lips in a lopsided smile, glad she understood. She always understands. Y/N held his gaze because there wasn't anything else to look at, really. And once you look at Tom's eyes you don't really have the choice to stop. You kind of...fall into them. They're really brown, like, <em>really</em> brown, especially in the low light. When it's daytime you can usually see hues of faun and chocolate and gold flecks about his pupil. But now, when it's almost dark, it's just all iris. Almost black, just going on and on. </p><p>The pasta made a hissing noise as Tom hadn't stirred it in, well, too long, the bubbles overflowing the side all of a sudden like they wanted to escape, and they both jumped in surprise as if they'd forgotten that the pasta even existed. Y/N <em>had</em> forgotten. It's easy to forget silly things like that when Tom's around. </p><p>"Oops," Tom giggled as he hastily faced the hob again, stirring twice as fast as before as if hoping that would somehow make up for all the time he hadn't been doing it. </p><p>Y/N, wanting to be useful, decided to get some plates and cutlery for their meal, by now knowing exactly where they'd be. She didn't notice Tom's sideways glances at her.</p><p>The someone he liked.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tom and Y/N had eaten their meal on lap-trays in the living room whilst watching the film Tom had picked, leaving the empty plates on the floor once they'd finished. They were going to share the popcorn into two bowls, equally, for dessert, Y/N having joked that Tom would take more than fifty per cent if left to his own devices. However, when the time came, they just sort of forgot about it and instead, Tom moved to Y/N's side of the sofa so they could balance the bag between them. </p><p>After some time, Y/N reached into the packet for some more popcorn and realised, with disappointment, that it was empty. She knew she had only managed to grab several handfuls and was about to playfully scold Tom for his gluttony, but something held her back. Metaphorically, of course. When he'd moved to Y/N's side he hadn't moved <em>this</em> close, Y/N pondered. He must have shifted further towards her every few minutes, by such a minute amount that Y/N didn't even notice he was now so far into her personal space she could feel the rises and falls of his bones and muscles. He'd sort of slouched until their heads were level, his whole lanky body loosely curled up and leaning into her, his eyes fixed on the screen where the hero was saving people from the now burning city. At least, Y/N thought that's what was happening in the film, though she wasn't sure. She hadn't been paying much attention anymore and the remaining footage would no doubt be lost on her too. How could she scold Tom, even in a teasing way, when he looked this adorable?</p><p>Y/N rolled the dishearteningly empty popcorn bag into a ball and tossed it onto the plate she'd used for dinner. She'd had to lean over to do so, not wanting to miss and look like she was littering her friend's house with wrappers. When she settled back into her previous position she felt a weight on her shoulder that hadn't been there before. </p><p>Tom was using her as a headrest.</p><p>Unable to hold back a smile, Y/N wriggled her arm out from between them and placed it around Tom's shoulders. Without her arm in the way, his body was now utterly pressed against hers and she felt his ribs slacken as he sighed contentedly. Y/N sighed too, letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding in. Hugging him again is fine, right? It's got nothing to do with her crush. Nothing at all. It won't change anything. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I'm so glad we're doing this again."</p><p>Y/N almost didn't realise Tom had said anything. She'd been staring at the television but she hadn't seen anything it had shown her. Her memories of the film were just various fuzzy, colourful pictures. The rhythm of the boy in her arm's breathing, the slow expansion and then inevitable deflation of his chest, held every last droplet of her attention and had done for fifteen minutes. And she'd been mentally having a debate with herself about whether to play with his hair again. After last time, the urge to bring more of those wonderful little happy noises from his lips was an everpresent force in her life that she'd just learnt to accept she could never satisfy. Until now. She could do it now, if she wanted, the question was whether she should. "What?"</p><p>From the angle of his head, Y/N could just make out his pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips. "...I said I'm glad we're doing this again. Watching a film together. Like this." </p><p>If Y/N didn't know any better she'd have sworn she identified the slight bumbling trip up of a stutter on the word 'like'. Smiling, she ran her fingers over his upper arm fondly, absently, from where her arm was still around Tom's shoulders. "Me too." She bit her tongue before it could add:<em>'You have no idea how much.'</em></p><p>There was a pause, but Y/N could sense that Tom also hadn't gone back to watching what's-his-name running around onscreen as he searched for what's-his-face that killed his daughter or son or perhaps wife. It wasn't an awkward pause, either, and Y/N realised just how few awkward pauses there had been during her friendship with Tom. They always seemed to have something to say, some mutual hatred, shared passion, etcetera, and if they fell silent it was restful and unanimous. Usually, you have to wait years to become comfortable enough with someone to just say nothing at all for hours on end, but Y/N hadn't even thought about getting to that level of understanding with Tom. The minute she'd met him she'd already been there. </p><p>Even now, with his whole being literally and metaphorically resting in Y/N's hands, it wasn't awkward. It just felt...right. </p><p>"Can I tell you something?" Tom asked after a little while, a tentative edge to his otherwise cheerful tone. Like someone who is about to say something very serious but wants to soften its blow with good humour. The shyness is new. Tom's always in good humour.</p><p>Y/N's smile twitched up into a smirk as she teased, trying to help him lighten the mood; "What have you done?" </p><p>He'd gone sort of tenser than before as if his muscles were readying for attempting to jump across a gully they know is too wide, but he pushed out a giggle all the same. "Nothing! I didn't <em>do</em> anything. It's just... you have no idea how many times I invited you over in the hope that you would cuddle me again."</p><p>Y/N stopped petting him "That's the only reason you invited me over?!" She's still teasing because she doesn't really know what else to do. <em>She'd</em> come over in the hope that <em>he</em> would cuddle <em>her</em> again (well, that wasn't the only reason, but it was very close to being the paramount one). Hearing that he'd been doing that exact same thing, had enjoyed it as much as she had, well, it was like learning you lived next door to a chocolate shop this whole time and had no idea. <em>He'd</em> <em>enjoyed</em> <em>it</em> <em>too</em>. </p><p>That thought flushed Y/N's blood with joy and she grinned, and---if Tom had been closer to the edge of it---she would have playfully threatened to push him off the sofa. </p><p>Tom obviously didn't share Y/N's joy because he said hurriedly: "No! Of course not!" Then fell back into his bashfully quiet tone as he muttered: "...But I did hope... you know, that we would."</p><p>"I'm sorry. I didn't know you wanted to," Y/N replied softly. She was staring at Tom's large hand resting on the sofa. He'd let his arm fall over her waist a while ago, like some kind of loose seatbelt, the grounding weight of it comforting in a lazy sort of way. His long, surprisingly boney---considering he was just a boy---fingers were tantalisingly close to Y/N's own. She sucked in a breath, working up the courage to push them close enough to Tom's to grasp his---</p><p>But he beat her to it, sliding his hand over the faded material of the couch to take Y/N's palm. The breath Y/N had been holding in slipped out in a content sigh. Why had she been scared to hold his hand when it fits with hers so perfectly? She squeezed his grip slightly; a sort of silent symbol of consent. She wanted Tom to relax, he still isn't, still hasn't let his body go slack, even though he was running the pad of his thumb over the ridge of Y/N's knuckles. </p><p>"You should tell me," Y/N's voice broke the silence. She wasn't sure if she believed in women's intuition but right now she could feel it; that Tom was holding something close to himself, something that was causing his body to act the same way it had when he forgot to revise for an English test once. "In future, if you want me to do anything. Tell me so I know."</p><p>Tom continued to fiddle with her hand, now pressing their palms together and spreading their fingers against each other, moving his against hers until they aligned, as if he just liked it; that she was under his hands.</p><p>Tom seemed to be thinking because he said nothing for quite some time. He still hadn't relaxed, though, the cogs of his brain churning as he mentally debated with himself. Then his fingers stopped fiddling and he pushed himself up, turned his head to the side suddenly, his nose bumping Y/N, and kissed her cheek quickly. </p><p>She stopped breathing. </p><p>Tom was completely still, sort of poised in an almost crouching position, watching Y/N's face for---well for anything. She could she slap him and tell him not to be so creepy, she could leave and go home and never speak to him again because she doesn't feel the same way, or she---</p><p>Y/N's eyes flicked from Tom's large dark eyes studying her with curious nervousness, down to his lips, the fuller bottom one of which he had taken between the white wedges of his perfect teeth. Y/N's arm that had been around Tom's shoulders lifted and she brought her hand, still warm from where his own had held it so gently, to cup his jawline. He just stared back, a muscle in his jaw feathering as Y/N's touch startled him, but he didn't pull away. Didn't move, didn't or couldn't. Or maybe he just didn't want to. </p><p>Surprisingly, it was the easiest thing in the world for Y/N, kissing her best friend. She just pushed her face to his, capturing his mouth for a few utterly blissful milliseconds before parting again. It was afterwards that was the difficult bit, the part tied tight with tension. It felt like hours that she was sat there waiting for him to say something, to do something, to react. When she'd broken the kiss his eyes must have slipped closed because she'd had to wait for him to open them before she could make any attempt at gauging his emotions.</p><p>Just when she thought he would do nothing, that she'd somehow broken him, a wide, unfaltering grin split across Tom's whole face and he leaned forward eagerly to kiss Y/N again, taking the back of her neck as if he couldn't get close enough. Y/N couldn't help giggling, the soft exhalation of air stifled by Tom's lips as she returned the kiss, his body finally melting as any apprehension he'd previously been harbouring dissipated with Y/N's reciprocation. </p><p>
  <em>He'd been afraid she wouldn't kiss him back. </em>
</p><p>She'd always kiss him back. </p><p>Shifting into a more accessible position, Y/N let her other hand splay against Tom's chest, his heart thrumming rapidly below her fingertips, rising and falling as he made a delicious little humming sound when she let her hand at his jawline slide up and into his hair. His lips were soft and sweet from the popcorn, an addictive taste mixed faintly with just...Tom, and the smell of his clothes, whether that be deodorant or cologne or just him, Y/N wasn't sure but it was heavenly. </p><p>Y/N didn't know if Tom had kissed anyone before but he was good at it all the same because he wasn't trying to get everything all at once. Just gently, slowly catching Y/N's bottom lip with his, all tender pressure and benign caresses. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tom hadn't crawled to crouch any further over Y/N's body, hadn't settled his weight onto her front, although God knows she'd tugged him enough for him to know he'd be very much welcome to. When he broke the kiss he'd done it slowly, so slowly it took Y/N a few sluggish seconds to realise that he had indeed broken it. That was probably his intent; he knew that if he cut it off quickly Y/N would just pull him back in for another one---which he'd instantly melt into. </p><p>He leant his forehead against Y/N's, allowing her to take a little of its weight, her breath brushing his slightly-parted lips as he gasped for air through a sloppy smile. She was still cradling his face, still grinning up at him and they shared a breathless giggle. The television mumbled unnoticed in the background, so far into the end-credits it had reached the part where the screen is just black with hundreds of tiny white names sliding past to the sound of some Eighties song everyone has forgotten about.</p><p>They just sort of remained that way, slightly tangled together, soaking up what it felt like to be adored. Or too self-conscious to move and discuss what they'd just done. Maybe a bit of both. </p><p>After a long time, Tom said in a voice roughened from moaning: </p><p>"...We should get some sleep." He still had Y/N's hair at the back of her head tangled around his fingers and he stroked the back of her head delicately with his thumb. </p><p>Before Y/N could say anything he'd moved off her, off the whole sofa, but he didn't take that warm feeling Y/N had been wallowing in with him. It remained, glued to her by the way he couldn't help smiling at her as he held out a large hand to help her up. Y/N didn't know what she would have said to him. Maybe she would have asked him to stay longer, to kiss her for longer, but now that she thought about it that would have been selfish. Pushing his boundaries, forcing or pressuring him into anything was the very last thing Y/N wanted to do. She wanted to bring him nothing but joy, so took his outstretched palm amiably and helped him carry the things from dinner to the kitchen sink. </p><p>"We'll wash those tomorrow," Tom mused, his cheeks still flushed an excited and bashful strawberry hue. </p><p>Y/N followed him to the stairs but almost bumped into him when he stopped suddenly, turning to her. He scratched behind his neck as he said:</p><p>"I hope that...you know...me doing that was okay. Kissing you." </p><p>Y/N still hadn't stopped grinning. She hoped she didn't look too much like some kind of love-sick teenager but Tom didn't appear to mind. He even, Y/N could now note with the light from the hallway, looked sort of relieved. Relieved that she had enjoyed it and not called her father to come around and beat him up. "It was okay. More than okay. I liked it a lot."</p><p>"Me too." Clearly more than pleased, Tom started climbing the stairs.</p><p>"You can do it again if you want."</p><p>He stopped, this time Y/N actually did walk into him and he caught her so she didn't go toppling back down to the ground floor. Holding her as if they'd been slow dancing and he was about to dip Y/N down, Tom asked: "What?" </p><p>Y/N knew he'd heard what she'd said. He just liked the sound of it, that clarification that a girl, that <em>she</em>, wants him to kiss her again. "I said you can do it again if you want." </p><p>Blushing, he righted her, making sure she was standing steady before letting her go. He was smiling, he didn't seem to be able to stop smiling. "I was going to do it again and again and again until morning. But I didn't want to seem like I was pushing you or anything." </p><p>Shaking her head: "You weren't pushing me." The back of her neck prickled with heat as she earnestly met his eyes. "I didn't want you to stop."</p><p>An almost moody expression came over Tom's face as he muttered: "Then what the Hell did I pull away for?" </p><p>Y/N chuckled at him and gave him a little nudge. "Because it's time for bed?" </p><p>Grudgingly conceding, he continued to climb the stairs again. </p><p>They'd reached Tom's room now and he collected his pyjamas, then suddenly announced that the first one to the bathroom got to shower first, and there was a laughter-filled kerffufel as Y/N and Tom scrambled to win. They'd slipped back into their usual ways now; two best friends, messing around, joking, teasing each other. But now there was more touching. Was there? </p><p>Y/N had been in the lead but Tom grabbed her around her middle, picking her up and placing her behind him, both cackling and he bolted into the loo, closing the door triumphantly. Y/N caught her breath and banged on the door. "Hey! I was going to win that, you cheated!" </p><p>There was a muffled, over-exaggerated gasp from the other side of the door. "I did not!" And they were giggling again. Y/N leaned against the wall and slid down it to sit on the floor while she waited for Tom to be done getting changed. Slowly their laughter subsided and Y/N could hear the sound of the taps running, the shower spurting to life. </p><p>"Tom?" Y/N hadn't been sure he'd hear her.</p><p>"Yeah?" Came the reply, along with the sound of some kind of bottle being opened. Probably that body wash Y/N had seen standing by the bath whenever she'd used the toilet. </p><p>"What did it mean?" It was easier to ask this question while he wasn't looking at her, while there was a wall between them. Although, Y/N pondered, she would have liked to have seen that adorable pink his cheekbones go whenever he gets particularly shy. </p><p>He knew what she was talking about because of course he did. There was a pregnant pause, Y/N's fingers absently playing with a loose thread that had escaped the edge of the worn-down carpet. "It meant I like you." </p><p>"I like you too."</p><p>Somehow Y/N knew he was smiling on the other side of the wall. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When the water stopped the sound of Tom's bare feet hitting the lino floor could be heard, then the scrubbing of a towel, and finally a toothbrush being pushed around his mouth. He emerged with his towel still on his head, probably to make sure his hair was totally dry before setting it on his pillow. He caught Y/N before she could step into the now slightly steam-filled bathroom by gently taking her upper arm, then quickly retracted his hand. "...I was thinking...seeing as I like you and you like me...and you'd like me to kiss you again and I'd very much like to kiss you again...are we...? You know."</p><p>Y/N had to use the air that had already been in her throat to ask, because her lungs had stopped working: "Are you trying to ask me if I'd be your girlfriend?" </p><p>A flush crawled over Tom's face, trickled down his slender pale neck and disapeares into his pyjama shirt. "I mean---maybe---if you want---"</p><p>"Because if you are I'd definitely say yes."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tom was already in his bed when Y/N emerged from the loo and entered his room, the bedside light casting everything into a soothingly dim glow. Y/N gave him a bashful smile as she climbed onto her airbed, not really sure what to say. Well, there were lots of things she wanted to say. Like 'are you okay with using pet names?' and 'do you want to go for something to eat tomorrow night?' and---come to think of it, all her other conversation starters were pretty much along those lines. She didn't want to say them, though, because she was afraid of scaring Tom off. And seeming like a lunatic. Her brain scrambled for something normal to say as she arranged her borrowed duvet across herself but, it transpired, she didn't really need to.</p><p>"What are you doing down there?" Tom asked, and when Y/N turned to look up at him he was watching her with what could only be described as a bemused expression.</p><p>"Sleeping?" Y/N offered, wondering if he fell over and hit his head in the shower. He might have done, Tom's house has one of those old baths that are literally a porcelain tub that you stand in to use the shower attached to the wall. </p><p>The corner of Tom's lip tugged up a little, that same I-have-an-idea smirk he'd worn when he'd shown Y/N the trampolines at school what felt like years ago. "I thought---seeing as you are my girlfriend now---"</p><p>Y/N glowed. It's amazing that something as simple as hearing him say that one word could bring such obscene levels of happiness. </p><p>"---you might like to...sleep in here. With me." That smirk faltered as he lost his cool, probably because of Y/N's expression. He hastily added on the end: "If you want."</p><p>Y/N's first thought wasn't actually 'yes please thank God you asked I want to more than anything' (although she will admit that was her second thought). It was: "Am I allowed?"</p><p>Noting the hopeful edge to her voice, Tom perked back up again, shoulders slacking that he hadn't offended her, or whatever he'd been afraid he'd done. "No one's here so it doesn't matter. And this is my room, I do what I want. It's just to sleep, anyway, why wouldn't you be allowed?"</p><p>Y/N shrugged. She didn't really know, now that she considered it properly. Sharing a bed with her crush was just so much of a dream come true she kind of assumed it wouldn't be allowed on Earth; that that level of satisfaction was supposed to be saved for heaven; if that even existed, or as a reward for doing something amazing like solving world hunger. "I'm not sure."</p><p>"Do you want to, then?" </p><p>"...Do you want me to?"</p><p>"I'd very much like it if you did."</p><p>The corners of Y/N's lips teased into a timid grin. "Me too."</p><p>Exhilaration gave a dazzling edge to Tom's smile as he moved over and held the edge of the duvet open invitingly. Y/N inwardly chuckled; he thought he had to make the bed look inviting for her to want to get into it? She'd settle down for a nap on any vaguely horizontal surface if it came with a cuddle from Tom. </p><p>Y/N disentangled herself from her place on the floor and stepped timidly over to Tom's bed. He was biting his bottom lip now, smiling up at her like a man being presented with a prestigious award as she wriggled under the covers, already toasty warm from his body heat. He was still propping himself up on one elbow and leaned over Y/N (making her flush to the roots of her hair for the millionth time that day) to switch off the bedside light. </p><p>When he's up close, Y/N couldn't help noticing with a prickle of interest, it really becomes apparent how much bigger he is than her. Granted, he's not <em>really</em> really tall, but he is...very present. He's not a man yet, perse, but it's obvious he's was very close to crossing that threshold. He's all broad shoulders, defined jawlines, and surprisingly muscley---well, everything. He's the kind of person you'd feel standing near you before you saw them.</p><p>"Comfy?" He asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Like a male bird that had spent hours building a nest for his female and self consciously presenting her with the final product.</p><p>"One hundred per cent." It wasn't even an over-exaggeration. Is everything in Tom's house wonderful <em>because</em> it's Tom's? Or is everything in this house wonderful and just <em>happens</em> to be Tom's?</p><p>Without the light on, and the moon thoroughly cloaked behind thick, stodgy winter clouds, Y/N could not see a thing. Because of this, it came as a pleasant surprise when she felt the mattress dip as Tom moved over to her side of the bed. </p><p>He'd cuddled her before barely half an hour ago and yet there was something different about the way he was doing it now. If Y/N was to guess what had changed she'd probably say the fact that he has permission to touch her. He doesn't feel he has to hold back his affections, keep them contained. He can let them loose, let his arms encircle Y/N's body and gather her closer like he wanted to, his head tip down to lean on hers. </p><p>And he did. </p><p>He's braver now, more self-assured because he knows she <em>wants</em> him to touch her. Cocooned in his long, strong limbs, Y/N returned the hug, slipping her own arms around his narrow waist and felt him sigh contentedly onto her hair. She smirked to herself in the dark; of course he's a cuddler, why was she even surprised that he'd wanted to share a bed? He's always made excuses to touch her, starting play fights that end in them wrestling on the floor, coming up behind her to hug (which makes her heart melt) or tickle her (which makes her scream, much to his delight). She'd thought he was just friendly, but now that Y/N thought about it properly, had she just been utterly blind? He didn't really do those things with other people; not to the extent and with the same ease he did them with Y/N, anyway. How had she missed all the times he'd blushed just because she'd smiled at him? Or completely overlooked the fact that he has a special smile he only uses for her?</p><p>"Good night," Tom muttered, the tone of his voice thick with a new tone Y/N didn't recognise. </p><p>She then realised it was 'endearment' because she heard it in her own voice when she answered sleepily: "Night." </p><p>He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and Y/N pushed her face closer to his chest until her nose bumped into the smooth ridge of his collarbone. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Y/N?"</p><p>In answer, Y/N mumbled something that was supposed to be words but came out as a string of meaningless syllables muffled by the pillow she was burying her face into. Maybe if she buried deep enough she could fall back into that dream she was having. She didn't remember what it was about, she just remembered it had been good.</p><p>"Y/N?"</p><p>Someone was definitely saying her name. She hadn't been sure at first, in fact, she'd been trying to ignore it, but that was becoming more and more difficult as something was giving her arm a small shake. Blinking groggily, Y/N's drowsy brain fumbled for a few seconds before finally managing to figure out the person was Tom, and the thing was his hand. Had anyone else woken her up she would have probably shoved them out of the bed. Or smothered them with her pillow. Somehow, for some reason, Tom must be an exception; she wasn't even frowning moodily anymore. Granted, she wasn't smiling either, but considering the fact that most people would have evoked a murderous scowl in similar circumstances, Tom was doing pretty well. "Mm?"</p><p>"I can't sleep."</p><p>Y/N almost laughed at the pitiful note to his voice---would have laughed at him if she wasn't still half asleep. She reached out to lazily tug him in for a cuddle but found the covers empty. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, urging her thoughts into motion and felt around the bedside table for the bedside light switch. Locating it, eventually, Y/N clicked it on, blinking away the slight shock it gave her vision and found Tom sitting cross-legged on the bed. "What are you doing?"</p><p>"I said I can't sleep."</p><p>"Oh. What's wrong?"</p><p>Tom's expression had gone from pleased that he'd succeeded in attaining Y/N's attention (one of his favourite things in the world) to sheepishly guilty as he realised the thoughtlessness of rousing her. "I'm sorry for waking you, go back to sleep, don't worry about it."</p><p>Y/N brushed off his words with one hand. "It's okay, I'm always here for you---"</p><p>He couldn't help smiling.</p><p>"---even if it is," Y/N squinted at Tom's alarm clock, "Two in the morning."</p><p>"I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking."</p><p>"Really, it doesn't matter, I'm up now so what's wrong? Are you okay?"</p><p>"I'm fine. I just feel...I don't know. You know that feeling where you are writing an essay but have to stop, leaving it half-finished, to go to bed? Or that feeling where you were reading a book but had to stop mid-chapter to go to dinner? Or---"</p><p>Y/N had just been in the middle of a REM cycle, so despite the boy before her being her boyfriend of not even one day, she still couldn't help raising an eyebrow at him as he rambled. He'd been awake for the past several hours, she hadn't. His mind was lucid enough to form paragraphs whereas Y/N's could still barely remember what country they were currently in.</p><p>Tom noted Y/N's expression and ground to a halt, giving her another apologetic smile. "Do you know what I mean?"</p><p>"The feeling that you're not done with something? Yeah, I get that."</p><p>This small solidarity pleasing him, Tom continued: "Well, I feel like that. And it's keeping me awake."</p><p>"What have you left half-finished? We did all our homework yesterday, we're going to clean up the things from dinner tomorrow." Y/N was surprised at herself for helping. That she wanted to help. He'd woken her up, she should be smothering him with her pillow right now. But she didn't want to, all she wanted to do was crawl forward until he knees nudged his pyjama-clad thigh and take his chin in her forefinger and fix whatever problems were worrying his pretty head.</p><p>So she did. Move closer to him and cup his jawline, that is. And she'd try her very best to fix his problems too.</p><p>Tom, loving every second of her affection, grinned, letting some of the weight of his head rest in Y/N's palm. "I don't think it's anything like that. I think...I think I'd feel better if I could kiss you again."</p><p>The thought of getting to kiss him again woke Y/N's brain (and body) up like a bucket of---not ice water because that's too harsh. It didn't wake her up in that way, not like frigid temperatures shocking her skin (although it did cause her arms and legs to prickle with gooseflesh). It was more like she'd fallen asleep on a rollercoaster, then been suddenly been started into consciousness when they'd gone over a dip. Her lips twitched into a smirk and she mock-glared into Tom's eyes, black rather than brown in the low light. "<em>That's</em> why you woke me up? Because you wanted to <em>kiss</em> again?"</p><p>He flushed, mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate a response, giving Y/N occasional views of his pink tongue. "No, I mean---yes, but---"</p><p>"I'll kiss you again, get over here."</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"Yeah, I want to."</p><p>Tom's shoulders sagged with relief that she wasn't angry. Grinning, he let Y/N draw him closer with her hand at the side of his face, falling into her kiss as if he'd swooned (he probably had). </p><p>This kiss was different to how he'd kissed her earlier, and not just because he knew he was allowed to do it now. The way he was kissing was different, slower, smoother, gentler.</p><p><em>'The right word for it,</em> Y/N contemplated, <em>is probably 'sleepily'. </em>On the sofa, he'd seemed hungrier. Shy, yes, restraining the full front of his desires, yes, but it had been clear he <em>was</em> restraining something. Now he was just...kissing her as if it relaxed him.</p><p>It was nice.</p><p>More than nice.</p><p>He keeps catching her bottom lip between both of his, sucking gently. Y/N kissed back in the same way, sliding her hands up and into his hair as she nudged his mouth open just enough for a soft moan to escape him. The sound, as it always had and always would, scraped against something inside her, something that made quivers of sensation spiral up her spine. Y/N wondered if Tom's body was reacting in the same way, if this would help him sleep, or just make him even more...awake.</p><p>He didn't seem very awake, though. He was sort of melting, the distinct feeling of a sloppy smile clear against Y/N's mouth. Everything about him at present was unimposing; his pyjama top soft and worn below her palm splayed on his chest, his hair, freshly washed fluffy and mussed up from tossing and turning. If Y/N could get a good look at his expression she'd probably see that that was soft too, all pink from a flustered blush, swollen kiss-bruised lips and starry eyes. </p><p>It was Y/N who eventually (and reluctantly) broke the kiss, mainly so they could properly breathe. She had a feeling she'd be the one to break most of their kisses in future as Tom doesn't seem to give two shakes about oxygen whilst they were doing it. She'd probably just saved both of their lives; he'd be willing to just sit there kissing and kissing until inevitable suffocation.</p><p>'<em>Not a bad way to go,' </em>Y/N shrugged internally, almost giggling. Not for any particular reason, she just felt...giggly. Happy, like drunk happy, except she hadn't drunk anything. She could still taste Tom's mouth; his own unique flavour, and the slight hint of remnant minty toothpaste.</p><p>"Feel better?" Y/N asked, not really needing to; he'd perked up considerably.</p><p>"Yes. More please." Tom tugged her back against himself, shifting closer, close enough to take her in his arms and she hummed appreciatively into the kiss, tangling them tighter. He held her to him, one of his large hands cradling the back of her head, pulling away from her lips every now and again to kiss her jaw, cheeks, on the end of her nose (which made her giggle). He was grinning, just full-on grinning, his kisses getting longer and more spaced apart. </p><p><em>His eyes were probably closed for a different reason now,' </em>Y/N thought. The urge to get back to sleep was becoming stronger for her too, the covers looking more and more appealing. Tom was right; kissing somehow did cause everything to perfectly align.</p><p>Eventually, he pulled away completely and lowered himself down onto his back on the bed, settling his head into the pillow.</p><p>Y/N yawned, unable to help it as she caught a glimpse of the bedside clock, and laid down by Tom's side, propping herself up over him on one elbow. She stroked a hand over his forehead with what could only be described as loving tenderness, smiling down at his dropping eyes. "You sleepy yet?"</p><p>Tom looked like he was mentally debating whether to deny it, say no so they could keep kissing (and, no doubt, so he could seem strong or manly or something silly), but decided against it reluctantly. "Yeah. Thank you. That helped."</p><p>Y/N's mouth pulled up into a tired, slightly lopsided smirk. "I'm always here if you need...help."</p><p>After switching off the light she allowed one of Tom's arms to guide her head to his chest, her body nestled against the length of his. His fingers were brushing a slow rhythm through her hair and she lay there, putting off sleep for as long as she could, wanting to soak up the gentle touch as much as possible. </p><p>When she'd imagined getting to kiss Tom (there's no point in denying that she hadn't) she had not really considered the idea that there were different kinds of kisses he could give her. She'd assumed every kiss would be exciting, would set her curious nerves on edge, the sensation tantalising and invigorating and thrilling.</p><p>But this kiss hadn't been like that. Well, it <em>had</em>, because every touch from Tom was like that, but that wasn't all it was. The kiss on the sofa was like a race to grab as much of something as possible, exploring a new experience, high on curiosity. He'd kissed her like he felt he had to enjoy it while it lasted, as if he was afraid that any second she would shove him away. This kiss, though, was...like making art. A soothing attempt to lull, an intoxicatingly slow act of expression. </p><p>Y/N had wondered (as all girls have wondered upon a new relationship) what exactly Tom wants from her. He didn't seem the type to get a self-satisfying kiss and then leave, but, of course, you could never be sure. Well, now she could. The way he'd held her, touched her; Y/N knows now that he...likes her. A lot. More than a lot. Someone who likes you just a bit doesn't kiss like that.</p><p>Y/N was still faintly smiling as sleep consumed her for the second time that night. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next day, Y/N woke up slowly, and then all at once. A heart was beating steadily under her ear, the calming rhythm threatening to lull her back to sleep. She was vaguely aware of a strong arm around her shoulders, her head resting on someone's chest. Then she remembered it was Tom's and that she had spent the night in his bed.</p><p>The boy himself was laying on his back, Y/N's hand on his stomach, one of her legs draped over his in an attempt to get closer. His body heat, the mixture of bones, vague softness, and sinewy muscle seeped easily through the weak material of his faded pyjamas and into Y/N's, greeting her lethargic nerve cells.</p><p>A thought had itched at the edge of Y/N's brain---concern that she's invading Tom's personal space, smothering him---but that had been easily waved off when his arm had tightened about her as he stirred, brain still saturated with a dream.</p><p>From her rather comfortable position tucked up against his side, Y/N had a clear view of Tom's chunky little alarm clock sat squatly on his bedside table. The thick hour hand was pointed squarely at the nine.</p><p>When Tom eventually woke, the first thing he did was raise a bony fist to rub at his sleep-riddled eyes. Well, the <em>very</em> first thing he'd done was smile, but Y/N didn't know that because she couldn't see his face, just the rising and falling motion of his rib-cage, the dip of his stomach that lead into the duvet. "Hello," he said to the top of her head, the arm around her shoulders using its hand to run a thumb over Y/N's upper arm fondly.</p><p>"Good morning." She didn't know what else to say. Their transition from friends to something-obviously-more-than-friends had happened, quite literally, overnight.</p><p>Thankfully she was relieved of having to lead the conversation because Tom asked, his hand having climbed Y/N's arm to run through her hair:</p><p>"Did you sleep well?" he sounded like he really cared, because he<em> does</em> really care, and Y/N felt her lips tug at the corners.</p><p>"Better than I have in a long time."</p><p>"I'm glad." He was, too.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You'd think Y/N and Tom would have taken advantage of some kind of lay-in, tangled in each other's embrace, but they didn't. Their relationship is still new and fresh, so new, in fact, that they hadn't gotten past that initial stage of awkwardness. It had crept in, nibbling at their edges until Tom had said quickly:</p><p>"Do you want to shower and stuff, and I'll make you breakfast?"</p><p>They'd hopped out of bed, glad of something to do. Cuddling was nice but it was almost <em>too </em>nice. Too wonderful to just lay there, still and calm. Too exciting to maintain a steady heartbeat, even breathing. Too novel to meet each other's eyes without their cheeks heating to a bashful shade of pink.</p><p>Plus, there were the memories of last night still wonderfully raw in both of their minds.</p><p>Everyone is familiar with those things that seem like a good idea at two in the morning, then, under the harsh light of day, are revealed as utterly hideously bad ideas. Well, last night's God-knows-how-many-minutes of kissing had seemed like a good idea at 2am, and was still a good idea now. However, that doesn't make it any less embarrassing. Tom had never heard Y/N moan like that, and she hadn't heard <em>him</em> moan like that either (apart from that time she watched him eat Nutella with a spoon). He'd been so unexpectedly needy for it, eager, even <em>desperate</em>, at times. It was becoming increasingly difficult for Y/N to look at Tom without staring less than inconspicuously at his lips and feeling an instinctual desire to pull out more of those lovely sounds.</p><p>It was rather ignominious.</p><p>Although, to be fair, he was doing the exact same thing. Even after several hours of sleep, Y/N's lips were still a rather (in Tom's eyes) delicious shade of red. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still taste her on his own. It was because of this that he avoided looking at the lower part of Y/N's face; because if he did he knew his tongue wouldn't be able to help moistening his lips. That would make him seem a bit weird. He didn't want Y/N to see him as weird, he wanted her to kiss him again. </p><p>Y/N scooped up some clothes from her overnight bag and gravitated to the bathroom. As she stood at the sink, brushing her teeth, she remembered their smoothie-freckled clothes soaking in the porcelain bowl what felt like years ago.</p><p>When she'd finished (noticing, with an embarrassed flush, she'd taken a little extra care with her appearance), Y/N followed the distinct scent of pancakes down the rickety stairs and into the kitchen, finding Tom standing before the oven.</p><p>Yesterday, Tom had shyly admitted that when he's alone he sometimes likes to imagine this house is <em>his</em>, and he lives there with someone he likes. Watching him now, smiling contentedly to himself as he regards the pancake mix sliding around the inside of the pan he's holding over the hob, Y/N can't help imagining it too. That he owns this place, everything in it, and he's making breakfast for his someone-he-likes. That's a surprisingly easy thing to fathom, Y/N realises as he flips the pancake over with well-practised ease.</p><p>Noticing her approach, Tom turned his head to give her a grin, probably hoping she'd seen his competent display of culinary skills, and maybe wishing they'd replace the memories she had of him horrifically misusing a blender. "This is the last one. You can start eating yours if you want." There were two plates resting on the counter by his elbow, an almost even stack of golden pancakes atop each. The pancakes were marginally larger than the crockery so the edges slightly hung over the lip of the plate and Y/N felt the strong urge to take hers to the kitchen table and tuck into them.</p><p>But she didn't. "I'd rather wait for you." She moved to stand behind Tom, sliding her hands from his sides to his stomach, her arms looped around his skinny middle, her cheek coming to rest between the clean cut edges of his shoulder blades.</p><p>He tensed, his inexperienced body prickling with the contact, then slackened as he let some of his weight rest in Y/N's grasp. His torso expanded then deflated with a happy sigh.</p><p>They stood like this until the pale batter bronzed and thickened to Tom's liking, at which point he flopped it on top of its slightly-steaming predecessors.</p><p>"Yum," Y/N said, nudging his body weight back onto the balls of his feet as she released him.</p><p>"Me or the pancakes?" Tom joked, a small shiver skittering it's way up the column of his spine as Y/N laughed.</p><p>"Both."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really didn't/don't know where I'm going with this one, message me if you have a plot in mind coz I certainly don't</p></blockquote></div></div>
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